MM2: If War is Hell, What is Peace?
by Guildsister
Summary: First sequel to Master Manipulator. What happens when the sense of purpose and excitement of war ends? Hogan's and Klink's story continues in the first post-war years.
1. Chapter 1

**If War is Hell, What is Peace?**

_A little story about when the 'happily ever after' encounters the reality of life after the tension, excitement, and driving sense of purpose, are over._

**Part 1: **_**Klink**_

Wilhelm Klink settled back in the easy chair, putting his feet up on the footstool, and opened his book. Flipping through the pages, he found his place. As he reached for his coffee the delicate china cup began to dance on the saucer. Startled, Klink dropped his book, scrambling upright. The cottage rattled beneath the roar of an airplane buzzing low over the roof. He recognized the sound—a fighter plane. An American fighter. The entire cottage shook. Klink frantically grabbed the cup and saucer before they hit the floor.

"Damn that Hogan," Klink muttered as he set the china safely back on the table and shook hot coffee off his hand.

Crossing to the door, Klink stepped out onto the porch, peering upwards. Across the lake, over trees ablaze with autumn colors, the Mustang pulled up and looped over. The plane barely cleared the treetops on the next pass. Klink shook his head as he waved at the plane. With a final victory roll over the lake, the Mustang disappeared into the distance.

* * *

The airplane had already landed by the time Klink drove up the narrow dirt road to the field. The P-51 was stopped near the small shed that served as a hanger at the tiny grass airstrip nestled in the Wisconsin woods. As Klink walked up, he saw Hogan standing on the wing, reaching back into the cockpit. He wore his bomber jacket and brown trousers, but as he turned to toss a duffle bag to the ground, Klink saw no rank insignia. Must be on leave. Off duty.

"Most people would have telephoned to announce their arrival," Klink grumbled as Hogan reached back into the plane.

Hogan turned, giving Klink a quick half-smile. Yes, yes… he wasn't 'most people'.

"Here, take this," Hogan said as Klink stepped up to the wing.

A small bundle was thrust into Klink's hands. "Donnerwetter!" Klink exclaimed, earning another quick grin from Hogan. The bundle was warm. It wriggled. And it was somewhat damp.

Holding the child out at arms' length, Klink stared at the bright-eyed boy who stared back, laughing and squirming. "I cannot believe Marie let you take this child so far in that airplane," Klink said.

Hogan pulled the Mustang's canopy closed. The look he gave Klink was enigmatic. Maybe. It was hard to tell with the aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. His mouth seemed tight as Hogan dryly said, "I didn't tell her." Easing himself down off the wing awkwardly, Hogan caught himself against the fuselage. He hopped on one foot until he maneuvered a cane down to lean upon.

Klink scowled over at Hogan as he held the ever-more-soggy child as far as he could out away from him. Hogan snatched up the duffle bag and, leaning heavily on the cane, hobbled toward the car.

"What happened to you?" Klink asked.

"A little hunting accident," Hogan said.

"Hunting?" Klink echoed, puzzled. "Hunting season hasn't started yet."

"Wasn't hunting deer," Hogan said as they reached the car. He opened the back door and tossed the duffle bag in. "It was a little Nazi hunting safari." He peeked over his sunglasses at Klink. "The quarry did not take kindly to being run to ground."

"Hmph. Is that what you and Marie were fighting about?" Klink asked.

"How did you know…?" Hogan started, then stopped himself. "Never mind. Just one of many things we were fighting about," he said with a sigh. "Situation normal all fuc…"

"Not," Klink cut him off, "in front of Willy."

"William," Hogan corrected in an irritated how-many-times-do-I-have-to-tell-you way.

"I prefer 'Willy'," Klink countered, grinning fondly at the little boy he still held well away from him. The child squealed and kicked. "My namesake."

"My father's namesake," Hogan said gruffly. "And why are you holding him like that?"

"This child is sopping wet," Klink said.

"Yeah. He did seem to find that last barrel roll a little exciting." Hogan shrugged as Klink aimed the boy pointedly toward him. Klink noted Hogan did not reach out to take him. "Well, take care of it," Hogan ordered. "The stuff's in the bag."

"I most certainly will not," Klink said, trying again to hand off the child. "You do it."

"You know… I can get you deported with one phone call," Hogan said. He softened the threat with a broad grin.

"Oh… very well," Klink grumbled.

* * *

"This is nice," Hogan commented as he propped his leg up on a pillow on the footrest. He looked to admire the view of the lake off the porch where they settled in. "Indian summer. On the _right_ continent. The leaves are beautiful." Klink spared only a quick glance, then returned to trying to keep track of the scurrying toddler, and to a wary defense of his breakables.

Klink noticed Hogan winced considerably as he adjusted his leg. "It hurts?" He handed Hogan a saucer and cup of coffee.

"Oh, yeah," Hogan said, settling back. "I got some pills, but I didn't take any. They don't mix well with either flying or drinking." He held his cup up, looking expectantly at Klink. With a smile, Klink brought the brandy decanter and poured a dose in Hogan's coffee. He set it down on the small table between the two wooden Adirondack chairs.

Settling down into his own chair, Klink didn't relax, but perched cautiously on the edge. Only a moment later he leapt up to retrieve little Willy from an attempt to climb the porch railing. He sat the youngster down and gave him a tattered paperback novel to shred. The boy stayed in one place—paper flying about—long enough for Klink to sit and venture a sip of his own coffee.

There was silence for a time, broken only by the sound of leaves rustling in the warm breeze, and lake birds hooting (and paper ripping). Hogan stared across the lake, though Klink wasn't sure he was really seeing it. Klink never questioned the reason for these sporadic visits. Usually they were unannounced—or announced by an airplane buzzing his rooftop—and never had a stated purpose. Sometimes Hogan stayed a few hours. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes they talked a lot. Sometimes very little. Klink always let Hogan set the pace and the agenda.

The real purpose of the visits, Klink had soon realized, was one that would never be spoken of directly. Hogan could talk to Klink of things he couldn't speak of to anyone else.

Hogan drained the cup, then poured in more brandy, not asking for more coffee to dilute the liquor, Klink noted. Hogan studied the cup and saucer more closely, then turned the saucer over, examining the markings on the bottom. "Dresden china," Hogan said quietly. "They're not making this any more."

"I found it in a shop in Milwaukee," Klink said, watching him closely.

Turning the saucer back over, Hogan stared at the pattern a long moment. Klink just waited. "I have a letter for you from your mother," Hogan said distantly. He gestured with his head toward his duffle bag on the floor in the living room.

"Thank you. I'll read it later," Klink said, still watching.

"Might be the last," Hogan said. "She's still at your grandfather's house near Leipzig and won't leave." Hogan shook his head. "The Soviet occupation zone. I _really_ don't want to get caught as a spy by the Soviets."

"Don't take any chances," Klink said firmly.

"Found your brother finally," Hogan went on. He glanced over at Klink. "He's absolutely crazy. Certifiable." Hogan quirked a small grin at Klink. "Must run in the family."

"I might say the same," Klink countered as he jumped up to snatch Willy up as he was about to swan dive off a stool. "Have you considered a leash?" he asked as he held the squirming child tightly. He sat back down, holding William close. The boy grinned up at Klink and swatted at his face. Pulling off his bifocals, Klink let Willy slobber on them. He'd disinfect them later.

"I have one of my lieutenants guard him when Tiger's gone," Hogan said with a smile. "Humbles them."

Klink wanted to ask about Tiger… Marie, but didn't. Instead he asked, "How is my brother?"

"He's okay. Aside from being crazy. Found him in the American zone, so maybe not so crazy," Hogan said. Suddenly Hogan turned to stare intently at Klink. "Did you know he was blowing up factories during the war?"

With a shrug, Klink said, "I knew things tended to blow up when he was around. But that predated the war. I recall there was an auditorium balcony at the Gymnasium…"

"He wasn't even in the Underground," Hogan said, shaking his head, "yet there he was blowing factories up freelance. Two war plants, and—for no reason I could guess at—one that made shoelaces." Hogan chuckled. "He reminded me of Carter. Carter is starting a demolition company, by the way. It suits him." Hogan gave a bemused shrug. "Not sure what there is to demolish in North Dakota… there just isn't much _in_ North Dakota, but if it makes him happy… I hope that little Norwegian girl, Maddie, can keep him contained. Maybe lots of fireworks." Hogan brightened again. "Oh, hey—Kinch is getting married."

"Sergeant Kinchloe?" Klink asked, looking down. Young William seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, but he was fighting it manfully. "To that African princess?"

Shaking his head, Hogan said, "No. That didn't work out. Get this—he's marrying one of Newkirk's sisters and staying in London."

Klink laughed lightly. Willy laughed with him. "That should make for some interesting family gatherings."

"Lively, to say the least," Hogan commented. "At least the one I was at last month was."

"On your way to the… safari?" Klink asked, trying to probe gently. Willy sighed and finally dozed off, snuggling in closer. Klink smiled down at him.

"Yeah," Hogan said shortly. He fidgeted with the cane with one hand, twirling it around. "Tiger was mad when I left. Then she got all teary and clingy when I came back hurt. Then when she realized I wasn't gonna die she got mad again, packed a bag and left." He twirled the cane and sighed heavily. Looking up at Klink imploringly, Hogan said, "I used to think I understood women."

"She's not a woman," Klink said abruptly. "She's a wife. _Your_ wife. And a mother." He paused a moment. "Where is she?"

"France," Hogan answered. "Number two is due in a month. She said she wanted to be home with her mother when it's born." He sighed again. "That's an excuse. She wanted to get away from me."

Klink readjusted the sleeping child. "Maybe she wants to let you know what it's like to be left behind, alone, with the young one."

"Maybe," Hogan allowed.

"Has it ever occurred to you she's bored?" Klink asked.

Scowling, Hogan said, "How could she be bored? She's got that wild little rascal to chase, another on the way, and a house to take care of."

"Hogan," Klink started slowly, "it's not even her house. It's an air force base house in Ohio. How does she fit in with the other army wives? What sort of things do they talk about? This is a woman who spent years blowing things up and dodging the Gestapo. She wasn't just in the Resistance. She was a leader in it. She lived danger night and day for years. Now you expect her to sit home quietly, like some tame little hausfrau, while you gallivant off on adventure after adventure."

Hogan rolled his eyes and looked back over the lake. "I never thought of it like that. But what can I do? With one kid already—" He gestured toward William. "—and soon to be another…?"

"Find a way to include her," Klink said firmly. He'd given this a lot of thought over the past year or so. Hogan and Marie had been separated more than once already, always by the pressures of peacetime life. "She's fluent in French, English, and German—have her work on translations, research documents… Surely you didn't start off after this 'quarry' just on a guess. There had to be paperwork behind it. Have her help with the hunt. And, when possible, take her along. She can certainly handle herself in dangerous situations."

"But the kids…"

"Leave them with someone." Glancing down at Willy, Klink hastened to add, "_Not me_." Hogan smiled. "Your mother. Or… or Kinchloe. Or LeBeau and that—" Shudder. "—Russian woman in Paris. Work it out. You didn't marry Marie because she was a placid little girl-next-door." Klink looked down at the sleeping child. "Wartime didn't rip you two apart, don't let peacetime do it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2: **_**Hogan**_

_Time froze in a blur of images. Rows of crosses stretched beyond the horizon. Pyramids of searchlights hunted over a burning city. Huge eyes stared at him from hollow faces. Machine gun barrels tracked him. A city smoldered in ruins. Puffs like clouds that could shred a plane filled the sky. Barred windows. Skeletons who yet walked. Rolling orange of a firestorm. A glimpse into Hell. B-17 in a death dive. Searchlights. Coils of wire… _

_None of it was real. Only what he felt was real. Gravel dug into his knees. His breath caught harsh in his lungs. Hard metal bound his wrists. Ice cold of a gun barrel pressed into the back of his head. Helplessness. Then the view shifted and it was he who stared down the gun sights into the eyes filled first with fear, then with contemptuous hatred. A finger tightened on the trigger…_

The gunshot always woke him.

Hogan jerked awake from the familiar nightmare.

Familiar though it may be, his reaction was always the same. Heart pounding, breath short, he scrambled upright, trying to figure out where he was.

"I'm sorry," a voice from the shadows said. "Did I wake you?"

Klink. Hogan glanced around again. Klink's quarters. No. Not Stalag 13. Klink's house. In Wisconsin. Over two years and that thought still rang oddly dissonant. Klink's house in Wisconsin. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Hogan steadied his breathing. He pulled himself further upright on the sofa. "No. You didn't." Reflexively, he hunted the room until his eyes landed on the youngster. William slept, undisturbed, in the little nest they'd made up for him on the floor. The deep sleep of the young and untroubled. Hogan watched until he saw the reassuring rise and fall of the boy's chest.

"What are you doing up?" Hogan asked Klink. He winced and bit back a groan as his leg reminded him of its injury.

Peering back from the shadows of the kitchen door, Klink announced, "I could not sleep. I am making cocoa. I will make you some too."

"Rather have brandy," Hogan said, propping his leg on a pillow on the sofa's coffee table.

Klink's stare was measuring as he looked at Hogan. "Your leg woke you?" he asked.

Okay. That's a good answer, Hogan decided. "Yeah. It's throbbing. How about some of that brandy?"

Still staring at him in an evaluating way, Klink told him, "It would be better if you took some of the pain pills and had cocoa instead." He turned abruptly away. A soft clatter of utensils came from the kitchen.

_Jawohl, Herr Kommandant,_ Hogan thought with a scowl. Rather than get into yet another fight with yet another person, Hogan surrendered. What the Nazis hadn't managed to teach him, marriage had. At least sometimes. A little. Probably not nearly often enough, he considered ruefully, remembering whose bed he _hadn't_ woken up in just now. Pulling his duffle bag over, he dug for the bottle of pills. Klink returned, on cue, with a glass of water. "Thanks," Hogan muttered without a trace of gratitude. He gulped down a couple of the pills, chasing them with the water. Klink nodded sharply, with a clear look of satisfaction his orders had been followed, then turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

While Klink puttered in the kitchen, Hogan watched his sleeping son. So peaceful, he thought wistfully. The boy was a direct product of war, yet radiated such a sense of peace. As he studied the child's features, the dark hair, the dark eyes, Hogan couldn't help—just could not help—thinking about his parentage. William was Hogan's child, his son—no doubt about it. He loved the boy so much sometimes it scared him. Yet the nagging tickle of doubt as to who had actually fathered William rose to pester him again. It usually came on nights like this, when the nightmares woke him, bringing back the flood of memories and feelings held solidly in check during the daytime.

Presenting Hogan with a mug of cocoa he didn't really want, Klink settled down in an easy chair nearby and also studied the sleeping William. Hogan sipped at the cocoa, still struggling to wend his way back to the here-and-now; struggling more to not let it show.

"Am I mistaken," Klink asked, still watching the child, "or did your son call me 'Opa'—" _Grandpa _"—earlier?"

He wasn't looking at him, so Klink probably couldn't see Hogan blush. "I, uh… I may have told him we were going to see, uh… ahem… 'Opa Wilhelm'."

Klink cast a sharp look at Hogan. "Hmph." Klink snorted softly. "I am _not_ that much older than you," he informed Hogan sternly. But Klink did appear rather pleased, Hogan noted.

"Well," Hogan said dismissively, "he's not going to get to know either of his own grandfathers…" He trailed off.

After a minute, Klink commented thoughtfully. "It would be fine. Having grandchildren without having to endure the burden of a wife and children."

Hogan chuckled. "They're not a burden."

Klink made the derisive snort again. "Of course. That's why you're here, visiting your former jailer instead of home with your lovely wife."

Looking away, Hogan pretended to drink some of the cocoa. Hogan supposed it _was_ odd—visiting the Kommandant of the prison camp in which he'd spent two and a half years of his life. It wasn't like he and Klink were actually friends. No buddy-buddyness. No chummy sense of… heck, _gemütlichkeit_. Yet… there was. Kind of. In a cautiously not-entirely-hostile sort of way. Hogan let out a small sigh. Maybe it was wrong every which way it could be, but with the one-time Kommandant, ex-Luftwaffe officer, Hogan felt comfortable in a way he just didn't with anyone else. Maybe because there was no need for pretense or pretending—which was funny in itself, Hogan allowed, considering how much pretense and pretending there'd been for so long.

"I… I just needed to get away for a while," Hogan protested, hearing for himself how weak the excuse sounded even as he said it. "This is a nice area for flying and as long as I was in the area, I've got a list of names I wanted to ask you about and… uh…" And that was nothing but pretense and pretending, Hogan realized with an inward sigh.

Klink 'hmphed' again.

"I do have a list of names I want to ask you about," Hogan protested. Only because he'd happened to have it in his pocket when he took off from Patterson. He didn't like to leave that particular list lying around. It was the personal list.

Fixing a sour look at him, Klink said, "I have told you before, I am not going to help you hunt down my comrades."

"The names are all Gestapo and SS," Hogan countered.

Klink shifted in his chair, turning back to watch the child. "_Those_ are not 'my comrades'," Klink murmured softly. Hogan nodded. Klink would help, as far as he could, with the hunt for those.

They fell silent a long time, each studiously avoiding looking at the other by watching little William sleep. He slept so deep. So peacefully. The sleep of innocence. The sleep of a soul free of all care and conscience. Unaccountably, it made Hogan sad. William wriggled, cooing in his sleep.

"Only sweet dreams," Klink murmured, watching the boy. "No nightmares." He cast a sideways glance at Hogan. "Is that what woke you? A nightmare?"

"Mmm," Hogan tried to make the sound come out noncommittally, but it came out sounding like a 'yes'.

"Yes, well, that's to be expected," Klink commented. The way he said it, so light and indifferently, caused Hogan to skewer a questioning look at him. Klink met the look evenly. "Every night, I should imagine."

"Well, it's, uh, a…" Hogan cut off the stutter with a blunt honesty. "Huh?"

"Two wars, remember, Hogan?" Klink put in with a shrug.

Hogan settled back and closed his eyes briefly. Readjusting his leg, he bit back a groan. "Funny thing is, I slept fine at Stalag 13. For the most part. Danger night and day for years, but slept fine. Now…"

"Gestapo?" Klink asked.

Nodding, Hogan said, "Usually." He tilted his head, and gave a small humorless laugh. "They are the stuff of nightmares. Were, that is." He shifted, wincing as his leg stabbed him.

With a frown, Klink asked, "You killed the one you were after?"

"Tried. He damned near got me instead," Hogan said. "Luckily Kinch decided to tag along, otherwise…" He left the obvious conclusion unsaid. "But there's one fewer of the evil bastards in the world tonight." As he raised his mug in a silent toast, Hogan studied his sleeping son as he softly added, "One more down."

Hogan saw a revelation, and not a pleasant one, light Klink's face as he rapidly peered from Hogan to William and back again.

"Donnerwetter!" Klink snapped in a way that reminded Hogan too vividly of some of their less civil encounters at Stalag 13. "You can't still seriously consider that little Willy…"

"William."

"…is anyone's son but yours?"

"Of course he's mine," Hogan grumbled. "Doesn't mean that one of those others… the ones who… with Tiger… Hochstetter's bunch… or Hochstetter himself…"

"Stop that at once!" Klink cut in with an unmistakably commanding tone. Slapping his mug firmly down on the coffee table (which would have come off more fearsome had not the mug been filled with cocoa), Klink glared at Hogan. "You will not finish that sentence," Klink ordered. "I will not have it. Not in my house. Not in front of my grandch… uh, not in front of Willy."

Simmering down a touch, Klink tried to mop up the spilled cocoa with a corner of his bathrobe. Hogan folded his arms across his chest and stared unseeing into space. He considered, and rejected, the idea of just climbing back into the Mustang and heading back to Ohio. At night, with the boy in the plane… Not enough airstrips between here and there with landing lights in case he had trouble, not to mention that huge lake in between. Alone, he'd do it, but not with William along. Hogan took in and let out a long breath.

"Hogan," Klink said in a conciliatory tone after a minute, "Listen to me…" Hogan shifted his attention over to Klink, staring at him darkly. "That boy is everything I disapprove of—he's uncontrollable, and free-spirited, and mischievous, and irreverent, and destructive, and undisciplined… and yet he can twist me around his little finger with just a sly little smile." Klink glanced over at William with an undeniably fond expression. Then he glanced over at Hogan. Curious, Hogan thought, Klink's expression didn't change. "Hogan, take it from someone who tried, unsuccessfully, to keep you contained for over two years—_that is your son_. A blood test couldn't prove it more. The herald angels couldn't proclaim it more clearly. He's so much like you it… well, it's almost enough to give _me _nightmares!"

A faint smile twitched at Hogan's lips even as he had to look away, blinking hard. Somehow he couldn't think of anything to say. From the mouth of babes and prison Kommandants…

Hogan's attention moved back to his son as the child whimpered and squirmed. Klink rose, crossing over to him. After a moment's examination, Klink stood up straight and announced, "He's wet again." He turned to Hogan and ordered. "Fix it."

With a flat smile, Hogan asked pleasantly, "Remember how I can get you deported?"

Grumbling, Klink knelt down by William. He began cautiously removing the boy's wet diaper. "For years it was the Russian Front, now it's deportation…" He glared up at Hogan as he jumped back when William almost squirted him in the face. "Sometimes, Hogan, I do not particularly like you."

Hogan quirked a teasing grin at Klink. "That means sometimes you do."

"Hmph!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3: **_**Klink**_

Klink woke to the scent of freshly brewed coffee in the air. Ah, he thought, stretching with a contented sigh, there were some advantages to having visitors. He rose, unhurried. A glance at the clock told him it was already mid-morning. The military-bred habit of a lifetime to rise early was one he had managed to break almost immediately, and with not even the faintest trace of regret.

With a steaming mug of coffee in hand, Klink stepped out onto the porch of his small house. The morning was frosty, with the distinct bite of impending winter in the air. Klink pulled his coat closer around him as he walked up to the railing. Hogan and his son stood down near the lake. Little Willy clumsily threw stones into the water, laughing excitedly at the splashes. No doubt the youngster would love to be turned loose to splash in the lake, but Hogan kept a tight grip on the boy's hand. Good thing, Klink considered. Limping as he was, leaning on that cane, Hogan wouldn't be able to chase after the boy if he decided to escape from him. A flat smile traced across Klink's lips. Not only was it a certainty young Master Hogan would escape if given half a chance, but equally certain he would return. Like father, like son.

As Hogan turned to lead Willy slowly back toward the cottage—one limping, one toddling—Klink retreated back into the warm interior of his house. It occurred to him to wonder just how bad Hogan's injury really had been. How close a call had it been? Had it happened last week? Or last month? Marie certainly wasn't the sort of woman to swoon and panic over her husband being involved in some minor gunplay, yet hadn't Hogan said she'd been weepy and clingy until she found out he wasn't going to die, then got mad and left? How honest and upfront had Hogan been with his wife about his 'hunting' trip and its consequences? Klink shook his head as he considered it. Subterfuge remained one of Hogan's habits-of-a-lifetime he had not managed to break. Nor, Klink suspected, had he even tried.

Sipping his coffee, Klink crossed the small living room toward his desk tucked into the corner. He paused along the way by the coffee table, his attention drawn to the worn, much-creased piece of paper resting on it. Klink stared downward. Hogan's 'list'.

Slowly, Klink bent to set down his mug and pick up the list. As cautiously as though he feared it would burn his fingers, Klink unfolded the paper and read the contents. Many of the names he recognized as those Hogan had discussed with him. Most of those were Gestapo and SS men who had managed to vanish, leaving behind only the horrific revelations of what they'd done. Hogan had questioned Klink in depth about many of these monsters. Oh, not seeking Klink's personal involvement with them to be sure, but to dredge up any tidbits of information, even gossip, Klink might recall about their associations—wives, mistresses, friends, business contacts… A distant rumor overheard at the officer's club one night years back might lead to the connection that led to the hunted man. With those Klink had been as cooperative as possible. As much as he'd known, as much more as he'd suspected, of the actions of the Gestapo and SS, the reality turned out to be even more shocking and nightmarish than he'd ever imagined.

The other names, though… Klink felt himself blanch and pale. Merciful heaven. No wonder Hogan never let him see this list before.

Staring so hard at the list of names, Klink scarcely heard the door open and slam behind him. He didn't even notice the pounding of Willy's feet as the boy was turned loose to wreak more havoc on Klink's tidy little world. But he felt Hogan step near him. Klink turned abruptly to stop Hogan from snatching the list from Klink's hand.

"My God, Hogan," Klink murmured, still staring at the list as Hogan scowled at him with irritation. Many of the names were crossed off. "General Biedenbender… Captain Kurtz… The Blue Baron…" In shock, Klink looked up at Hogan. "You've hunted down and killed all these men?"

Hogan's scowl deepened. He gave an exasperated sigh as he settled painfully down onto the easy chair, stretching his leg and rubbing it. "For cripes sake, Klink, it's not a death list. What do you take me for?"

Sinking down onto the sofa, Klink stared from Hogan, to the list, and back again. "I don't know," Klink answered frankly. "I've never really known. And every time I think I do, I'm wrong. I did know, even back in the war, that you had a 'list'. I knew it the moment you told Major Teppel you'd remember him. But this…" he waved the paper, "…all these names." Klink locked eyes with Hogan. "Many of these men were soldiers doing their duty in time of war. Not war criminals. I can't believe you'd…"

Hogan cut him off. "I told you it's not a death list. I took General Biedenbender out to dinner. While he certainly wasn't thrilled with me for those years he spent isolated in an English prison, he didn't mind too much coming out of the whole mess with the reputation of having been a hero to the Allies. It's done wonders for his business since. He stands to become a rich man. We parted with a hand shake."

"But Captain Kurtz? General Burkhalter's brother-in-law. I'd suspected he wasn't really killed in that train explosion." Klink waggled his finger accusingly at Hogan. "Like so many others—no body. No trace of a body."

A dark smile cast over Hogan's lips. "_Him_ I gave a punch in the nose," he said. Then a wry chuckle burst from him. "But it balanced out. His wife smacked me a good one when I told her she'd be getting her husband back."

Hogan sighed and leaned back, suddenly looking much older than he had while playing with his young son. "We left a lot of loose ends. I'm wrapping them up. Yeah, there's some on that list I'd gladly put a bullet between their eyes and have a song in my heart when I did it. But even this last son of a bit…"

"NOT in front of Willy."

"William," Hogan corrected reflexively, sighed again and went on. "Even that…" He seemed to struggle to find an appropriate word that would describe the man yet could be said in front of the youngster. "…that evil excuse for a human being, I meant to take him in alive. He just didn't cooperate." Hogan rubbed his leg again.

Klink spent a long moment examining the list again. "Was I ever on this list?" he finally managed to ask.

Hogan's expression softened a touch and Klink could see his sometimes (often) wicked sense of humor shine back through. "Sure," Hogan said. "Christmas in Colditz earned you a top spot for a while."

"Hmph! I was just trying to keep you alive," Klink muttered.

With a snort, Hogan countered, "You were just trying to keep _you_ alive."

Klink gave a dismissive shrug. "Well…"

Hogan chuckled.

Pausing with his finger by one name, Klink asked, "General Burkhalter?"

Hogan shook his head. "Still nothing. I thought I'd find some information from a contact in Berlin, but…" Another shake of the head.

Mention of Berlin brought a question Klink had back to mind. He folded up Hogan's list. "Actually I'd rather thought you'd be flying in the Berlin airlift," Klink said. "A chance to drop something besides bombs on the city."

Hogan shrugged. "I did. A couple loads, at least. It gave me the cover to get back into Berlin and…" He trailed off.

"Yes." Klink filled in the rest for himself. Hogan's hunting trip, and heaven knew what other bits of nefarious. "I can guess the rest."

Flicking a quick smile, Hogan told Klink without words his guess was almost certainly correct. Yet, as ever, Klink reminded himself this was Hogan and what met the eye, the top layer, never told the full story.

Hoping to draw more out of Hogan, Klink commented in the tone of casual reminiscence, "Berlin has been a magnet for espionage as far back as I can recall."

"Yeah," Hogan agreed. "Even back in the Kaiser's time when my dad…" He cut himself off and cleared his throat. "Then during the first war…" Another throat clearing. "And of course during this last big dust up…" He trailed the sentence off again. It was the nature of the spy business, Klink considered, to always and forever have to leave things unsaid; never to be able to tell all to anyone. Hogan twitched his cane around a bit and studied the floor for a moment before he went on. "Now Berlin is full of spies and agents again. This time it's KGB versus CIA," he said, naming the newly formed American intelligence service.* Klink's eyes widened. Was Hogan telling him without telling him he now worked for the CIA in the 'cold' war against the Soviets? "There's going to be another war," Hogan said, with an edge of something in his voice Klink couldn't quite put his finger on. "Probably right in Germany again. The free world against the communists, this time."

Pressing the point, Klink said, "So you flew in the airlift just to have a legitimate excuse to get into the city."

Hogan shrugged dismissively.

"Without telling your wife what you were really up to, I presume?" Klink added accusingly.

With a warning glare at him, Hogan appeared on the verge of speaking, then did one of his rapid turn-arounds, instead saying with a chipper grin, "Say, when I was in Berlin I happened to get a hold of some old files that might interest you."

"Really? What?" Klink felt the old familiar bewilderment he'd so often felt around Hogan at Stalag 13.

Grinning, Hogan said teasingly, "Oh, some Luftwaffe personnel records. Among them, yours." He stopped talking abruptly.

The snot. "Did it say anything interesting?" Klink asked as he strove to sound uninterested.

"Oh, a little this and that," Hogan said. He shook his head and leaned back. "Nah, you don't want to know."

Klink seldom cursed, not in English and not in German. Now he did. The burst of profanity widened Hogan's grin. "Not in front of little Willy," Hogan chided. Klink glanced around. The boy was on the far side of the room, no doubt plotting the destruction of some priceless treasure of Klink's.

"William," Klink snapped the automatic name correction before he even realized Hogan had turned it around on him. Klink clenched his fist in frustration. "What did the record say?"

Hogan hesitated, then said more mildly, "You know, I'm really not sure you want to know. It seems, if the war hadn't come along when it did, you were on the list to make general. And you'd have made it _before_ Burkhalter." Ouch. Hogan was right. Maybe he didn't want to know. Hogan went on, "You had a good record as an administrator and until the shooting started, that's what they wanted. Once the war started the experienced combat officers—especially those who made the loudest Nazi noises—jumped to the head of the line."

"Well," Klink said, trying to grasp what he'd just been told. The long-cherished dream had been right there, and had been snatched away. "Well," he repeated, "another thing the Führer got wrong."

The creaking and bang of a door beyond the kitchen drew their attention. "My housekeeper," Klink explained. A moment later a plump blond woman more than a few years past her prime peeked into the living room. Klink handed Hogan his list and turned to greet her.

"Good morning, Magda," he said. Ignoring Hogan's curious state, he gave the woman a quick peck on the lips.

"Good morning," she answered in heavily-accented English. "Ah! Visitor," she said upon seeing Hogan. "And pretty baby!" She swooped down on Willy, scooping him up.

"This is Willy," Klink said slowly and clearly.

"William," Hogan corrected.

"And this is Robert Hogan," Klink continued, "an old… uh, _friend_."

Hogan chuckled. He and Magda exchanged greetings. She set Willy down reluctantly, then she returned to the kitchen.

"Russian?" Hogan asked when the door closed behind her.

"Polish," Klink said.

Raising his eyebrows, Hogan commented, "You're braver than I thought."

"She doesn't know I am… that is to say, I was… She doesn't speak much English," Klink concluded.

"You two did seem to communicate well enough," Hogan said with a teasing grin.

"She's a fine woman," Klink said stoutly. "Pleasant, not too bright, dull enough that she thinks I'm exciting. Perfect."

"Sure, sure," Hogan agreed, grinning. "Still, I always held out hope you and Frau Linkmeier would get together again."

"Hogan!" Klink shook his fist, but without real anger.

Willy parked himself at Klink's knee, staring up at him with the unblinking intensity only a two-year-old can produce.

"Où est Mama?" the boy asked.

Klink stared at him, then up at Hogan and back again. "That was French," he announced.

"Uh, huh," Hogan said with an edge of something glum in his voice. "Tiger talks French to him."

"What did he say?"

Hogan shifted, appearing decidedly uncomfortable before he answered. "He's asking where his mother is."

"Oh." Klink stared down again at the little boy. Willy thrust his arms upward in the universal toddler's sign for 'pick me up'. Settling Willy on his lap, Klink changed the subject, saying instead, "I trust someone is teaching the child to speak English."

With a scowl, Hogan answered, "Yeah. He's fine."

"Well," Klink said, looking down at the child who was studying him with youthful intensity, possibly still hoping for an answer to his question about his mama, "I've only heard him say a few words of German, and now French, and some babble I didn't understand at all. I assume you're teaching him German."

"I most certainly am not!" Hogan snapped with an vehemence that caused Klink to jerk back. "He may pick up a word or two but I don't want him having anything to do with that verdammte country."

Klink gaped at Hogan. He'd never heard such ferocity nor anger from Hogan directed toward Klink's homeland before. "Hogan, I…" Klink began, not even certain what he meant to say when the door to the kitchen opened and Magda entered, carrying two steaming plates.

"Breakfast," she announced, setting the plates on the small table by the front window. "You eat now." She returned, plucking Willy from Klink's lap. "I watch baby," she said and promptly started cooing to him in Polish. From the look in Willy's eyes, he was enamored at once with the plump, motherly woman. She whirled the boy away into the kitchen.

Answering Hogan's questioning look with, "He'll be fine," Klink seated himself at the table.

"This is good," Hogan said a few minutes later, around a mouthful of food. "Really good." He shoveled the food in like a man who'd been in the cooler on bread and water rations for a week.

Klink frowned down at his plate. It was good, certainly, but plain fare. Nothing special. "I should think you wouldn't care for such things."

"Are you kidding?" Hogan said, barely glancing up. "After army food? This is sensational."

"I mean," Klink amended, "after all that fine French cuisine…"

"Cuisine?" Hogan cut him off. "Marya—" That (shudder) Russian woman, Klink filled in. "—married a gourmet French chef. I married a French girl who burns toast. I eat at the mess hall. And she either doesn't know how to run the vacuum cleaner, or won't run it." He apparently stifled the rest of the rant Klink decided Hogan had been holding inside for some time. Klink kept his mouth shut and just let Hogan talk.

After a silent moment, Hogan went on in a more subdued tone, "Kinch finally told me on this last trip he wasn't sure from the start if we'd make it, Tiger and I." Hogan stared down, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "'Wartime romance', he said. Tiger and Papa Bear knew each other, but she and I didn't." Hogan rolled his eyes and sighed softly. "He was right." Looking up at Klink, Hogan met his eyes with a trace of sadness and desperation in them. "It was like marrying a stranger. I knew what kind of time-delayed fuses she liked on demolition packs, but didn't know if she took cream in her coffee." He set his fork down. Picking up his coffee cup, Hogan sipped thoughtfully, looking inward to someplace distant. "She was married, before the war. She and her husband, first husband, were college students in Paris. He was killed early on in the Resistance." Hogan shook his head. "I didn't know about any of that until we were already married. I mean, it didn't matter, but still…" He trailed off. "We never had a chance to talk about the things people usually do if they're dating, or engaged. And there was the rush because of William…"

"But surely Marie…" Klink began.

The clatter of the coffee cup hitting the saucer cut Klink off. "That's another thing," Hogan said sharply. _Another thing what?_ Klink thought with dismay, as yet another conversation with Hogan seemed to have gotten away from him. "She doesn't go by 'Marie'. Never did. She goes by 'Louise'. I didn't even know that for a whole year until I was at her mother's house in France and Tiger's sisters showed up. Marie Michele. Marie Bernadette. Marie Colette… Apparently it's a French Catholic thing to name all the girls Marie—Mary—then add another name."

He rubbed his eyes, then gave Klink a somewhat pained smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go off like that. It's just…"

Waving his hand in the air to stop Hogan, Klink said, "It's quite all right. I understand having trouble with women. Though," he added judiciously, "I have always quite liked Marie… I mean Louise, Marie Louise. I found her charming from the first. And she's always been quite pleasant to me even though we weren't quite on the same side of the war."

"Not quite on the same side of the war?" Hogan repeated. "That's an understatement. But, yeah, Tiger told me how you were fawning over her when the Gestapo brought her into camp that time."

"I like pretty girls," Klink stated defensively. "And so do you. But I had the sense to remain single so I could continue to enjoy them." Thoughtfully, he said, "I recall how enjoyable it was dancing and romancing the lovely Lily Frankel. I think if I'd had a bit more time with her, I could have…"

A soft snort from Hogan halted Klink. "I don't think so," Hogan said. "Lily wasn't interested in you."

"How would you know…?" Klink began sharply, then the gears turned and he realized. "You knew Lily Frankel," Klink said.

Hogan gave a shrug. "She was in the Underground. One of my contacts."

Something about the dismissive way Hogan said it told Klink more than the words themselves did. Hogan, master of duplicity and concealment… "You knew Lily Frankel," Klink said flatly as he rearranged his thoughts and memories. "You knew Lily Frankel," he said again. Was that a faint blush on Hogan's face? An avoidance in his glance? "Oh. You _knew_ Lily Frankel."

"Say it as many times as you want," Hogan said. "It won't change it."

"You knew Lily Frankel in the, uh… that is to say, in the Biblical… uh…" Klink stuttered. "Heavens to Betsy!"

"Hey!" Hogan cut in brightly. "Nice use of American idiom."

"Thank you. I've been practicing," Klink acknowledged, but refused to let Hogan sidetrack him. "So, you knew Lily Frankel. You _know_ Lily Frankel. And she… and you…" Then he did another searching study of Hogan's face and the sudden miserable avoidance in his eyes. "Donnerwetter, Hogan!"

"Forget those American idioms?"

"Stop that!" Klink ordered. "You met Lily on this last trip, didn't you? You… you cheated on your wife with her, didn't you?"

"Klink…" Hogan started warningly.

"No wonder Marie—Louise—left. She still has contacts over there. She was in Underground intelligence, too. She could find out. That dear, charming, beautiful woman…" Cutting off his near-babble, Klink glared accusingly into Hogan's now-angry eyes. "Shame on you!"

"Klink! I did _not_ cheat on my wife with Lily Frankel," Hogan snapped. Then he dropped his eyes, his tone also dropping. "Almost," he murmured. "Almost. I would have. Lily stopped it." Hogan shook his head. "I never thought I'd be the sort to cheat on my wife."

"Hmph! You never were the sort to even _have_ a wife, Hogan," Klink said. "How old were you when you arrived at Stalag 13? Nearly forty? Never married. Hot-shot playboy pilot. How many women were there? And none of them a Mrs. Hogan?" He waggled his finger at Hogan. "You're just like me."

With a scowl, Hogan retorted, "I am nothing like you."

"Really," Klink countered. "You said there is going to be another war, and you sounded almost eager when you said it. Hmm? Because in the war you were full of purpose, on the top of your game. You never felt more alive, I'll wager, than when you were dodging death every moment. Playing cat and mouse with the Gestapo, and with me—"

"Well, you were easy."

"—so you find yourself yearning for the next war, even though you say you want nothing but peace, because those were the best years of your life. Wanting to relive the old glory days when everything was sharp and bright. Isn't that right?"

Hogan shrugged, but also appeared to be considering Klink's words.

"Like me?" Klink concluded softly.

Meeting his eyes, Hogan repeated, "I am nothing like you," but much less firmly.

"Really?" Klink asked, holding Hogan's eyes. "By the time this next war starts you'll be how old? Too old to fly fighters, certainly. Even too old for bombers. No, you'll be just about the age I was when I took command of Stalag 13. Maybe they'll assign you to command a POW camp. Hmm? Still a colonel, too. You'll have been a colonel quite a while by then. You certainly have the qualifications to be a POW camp commandant, don't you? You'll be trying to keep a bunch of conniving young hotshots contained. And all your great courage will pale as you get older and realize just how precious life is, and how foolish most of the reasons to die are. So you'll hang your flight gear on a hook, put photos of old planes on the walls, and fly a desk."

"I am nothing like you," Hogan murmured again.

"Nothing like me?" Klink challenged. "Hogan, you _are_ me. Just… you know, with more hair."

Hogan chuckled at that. Straightening up, Hogan pushed his breakfast plate away. "Well, you're wrong about that, but I will keep the thought in mind… or in my nightmares." He smirked at Klink, who smiled patiently back.

* * *

Cigars after lunch on the porch, the day having grown pleasantly warm, eased the conversation onto other, meandering paths. Willy stayed in the house, 'helping' his new friend Magda tidy up. The occasional crash followed by a burst of rapid Polish gave Klink cringing progress reports.

Returning to the question at hand, Klink said as dismissively as possible, "Well, when someone comes along and tells you you're great, perfect, superior in every way…" He shrugged. "Who am I to argue with that?" He waved his hand as if to erase both question and answer from the air, for Hogan's question—the great, overriding, unanswered, never-to-be-fully-answered, 'Why?'—hit rather too closely to home for comfort.

"Yeah." Hogan stared thoughtfully inward a minute. Then he peered hard at Klink, jabbing a finger toward him. "But never once, not even one time, did I ever hear you use the phrase 'Master Race'. Not about you. And not about anyone else."

Klink pursed his lips together. "No." Standing abruptly, he strode to the edge of the porch railing. He turned to Hogan with a small smile. "You see, while 'Klink' may be a five hundred year old aristocratic family name, I also knew full well it was a family with more than a few, uh… as you would say, 'woodchucks in the lumberpile.'"

Hogan winced. "So much for your mastery of American idioms. That wasn't even close to the right expression."

"Then what…?"

"Never mind," Hogan cut him off. "I know what you mean." He gave Klink a knowing look. "The aunt with the…" He waggled his fingers near his upper lip."

With a grimace, Klink conceded, "Yes. And the boy who never… And the girl…"

"Yes," Hogan agreed. "So sad."

"Mmm." Klink shifted and tried to readdress the original question, hoping somehow to find the answer for himself if not for Hogan. "So how did Hitler convince all of us to go along with everything he said and did? He told us we were superior. He told us we had a great destiny. Who would ever stand up and deny that? As for the rest…"

"Yeah. I saw that for myself. It was glorious and exciting—for those on the top. And if you're one of those on the top, it's hard to see those who are getting trampled down on the bottom."

"But," Klink inserted, "I could see the others who were on the 'top', as you put it. Hochstetter-types. The SS were supposed to be the best of the best, the very epitome of the Aryan Master Race, yet there they were—arrogant, cruel, inhuman."

"Cruel and inhuman. God…" Hogan stretched the word out like a prayer, or a plea. "And you don't even know the half of it."

It took a certain force of will not to look away from Hogan as Klink quietly asked, "You went to some of the concentration camps, didn't you?"

Hogan nodded, his eyes taking on a hollow look. "Just one. Dachau, by Munich. And I wish to hell I hadn't. It was a week or more after it had been liberated. A lot had been cleaned up, yet it was still like stepping into some nightmare of Hell worse than any I'd ever imagined."

"The nightmares you have…" Klink didn't finish the thought.

"Sometimes," Hogan admitted. "That's in there, along with other stuff. But usually it's…" He broke off. "Say, if we're gonna talk about this I could really use a drink."

Not arguing this time, Klink went into the house, covertly itemizing his more valuable possessions to see if they were still intact as he did so. He heard Magda chattering, with Willy babbling cheerfully, from the bedroom. Snatching up the decanter of brandy and two glasses, Klink returned to the porch.

"Here," he said, handing Hogan a glass, then poured one for himself. When Hogan didn't resume speaking, Klink said, "After the Great War I used to dream over and over about being in a burning plane as it crashed. It would spiral down forever as the flames burned me alive."

"That ever happen?" Hogan asked, peering seriously at Klink.

"Not to me. I saw it happen to a friend of mine. I followed him down but couldn't do anything. I crashed once from a low altitude—the Blue Baron incident—but the plane didn't burn. I saw others, though…" Even after all these years it gave him a shiver. "It's strange how years later something can bring that back just like it happened yesterday.

"Yeah," Hogan murmured. "I know what you mean." He cleared his throat. "I don't know how many lives I'm responsible for taking. Can't even count. There were the bombing raids—you never see the faces, just explosions far below. The sabotage missions—factories full of workers, guards. Bridges. Convoys… Still, somewhat remote and impersonal. I was in dogfights but in those you're not really shooting at people; don't think about the pilot. You're shooting at an airplane."

"I know," Klink said. "That's why I couldn't do it." Hogan gave him a questioning look. "We had open cockpits then," Klink explained. "And flew at slower speeds. I _saw_ the face of the enemy pilot I was supposed to shoot down. He looked as scared as I was. Luckily, my guns jammed."

"Sure they did," Hogan said agreeably. "Whatever else I have a nightmare about, it always ends the same way. I'm on my knees with a gun to the back of my head…"

"I won't apologize," Klink blurted out.

"I don't expect you to," Hogan said mildly. "That moment you really were trying to save my life. Well, yours too."

"Always."

A quick smile passed between them. Hogan gulped the rest of his brandy and poured another glass, filling it more than Klink had. Hogan's expression turned dark. "Then it turns around and I'm the one holding the gun, looking right at him as I pull the trigger. It was one of Hochstetter's goons in Berlin. I shot him pointblank between the eyes." Hogan made an exasperated sound and took a quick drink. "It's not even like I feel guilty about it. I did what I had to do and I'd do it again. I just keep seeing his eyes at the moment I pulled the trigger." He shook his head and said to Klink, "You wouldn't understand it."

"Hogan," Klink said softly, "I didn't shoot Hochstetter in the back."

Hogan blinked and stared. "Right." He turned away, nodding thoughtfully. "Right."

* * *

As twilight colored the sky and the lake in gold and orange, Magda called to them from inside the cottage that supper was ready for them and she needed to return to her own home, expressed as, "You supper now. I go."

Stretching and rubbing his bad leg, Hogan took charge of Willy. From the way the boy's eyelids drooped, he'd be asleep in no time, worn out from his day playing with Klink's housekeeper.

The dinner passed quietly, Hogan apparently lost in his own thoughts, possibly reflecting on all they'd spoken on this day, Klink considered. How many times at Stalag 13 had Klink felt Hogan, an officer of equal rank though an enemy, was the only one he could speak with of deeply personal things. It turned out Hogan had never felt the personal connection at those times; only saw Klink as an adversary to use and manipulate. Yet, somehow, through all that, something real had developed between the two men so now, in some way, Hogan felt Klink was the only one he could speak to of these private and troubling things.

"Funny," Hogan said, looking out the window at the last shards of the sunset glistening on the water. A loon hooted from the far shore, its eerie call one with the twilight. "I used to dream of a place like this sometimes at Stalag 13. Peaceful. Quiet. A simple life with Tiger and our family. I did not dream of it for _you_, however." He gave a faint chuckle. "How'd you end up with the American dream, and not me?" He fell silent again.

Needing to break the moody quiet, Klink commented on something that had occurred to him as they talked about Klink's aborted promotion. "They offered to make you a general. Why'd you turn it down?"

Jerking as though startled from a dream, Hogan said, "Because it would have been General Hogan, R. E. T."

"Hmm?"

"Retired," Hogan said. "No war, no need for more generals. We have an excess as it is."

"Still, why not take it?" Klink persisted. "Stay home with your wife and raise a family. This 'American dream' is still there waiting. It's yours for the taking."

"And do what?"

"Go into civilian flying," Klink said, "and leave all this… this… danger and intrigue behind."

Hogan shook his head. "There are as many spare civilian pilots now as there are spare generals. And I'd go crazy flying a regular route. Nope. It will work out. Tiger and I will work it out. We'll fight and we'll make up. And if we keep making up the way we do we'll end up with a _big_ family.

"But," Hogan added, "I can't quit doing what I'm doing until I can look Stalin square in the eye and tell him to back down."

Klink knew better than to try to dissuade him. "Hmm… that would be the last of the great leaders of the war you've met. You met your president, I assume." Hogan nodded. "And Churchill. And Hitler."

Hogan said, "I never met Hitler."

"What?" Klink shook his head. "I saw you meet him. At the camp. He kept going on about barbed wire."

A grin split Hogan's face. "That was Carter."

"Carter?" Klink echoed blankly. Suddenly Klink slammed his hand down on the table, making the dinnerware jump. "I hate it! I absolutely hate it when things like that come up." Simmering down with an effort, Klink glared as Hogan laughed at him.

"Oh, come on, Klink… they'd never have let me within a hundred feet of Hitler even if I was in chains and had a squad guarding me." Hogan choked down another chuckle. "I thought you said you'd figured everything out and were just playing along the whole time."

"Yes, that's right," Klink lied. "Oh, maybe I missed one or two things, but on the whole I was right there with you, shoulder-to-shoulder, comrades in arms, battling the evil…"

Hogan's laugh cut him off again. "Don't overplay it."

"Yes, well…" Klink began, but the telephone ringing cut him off. Rising, he picked up the receiver. "Yes… yes…" He struggled to hear and understand what was being said over the crackly line. "I think it's for you," he said to Hogan, holding out the receiver.

Hogan spoke into the phone, then began speaking what even Klink recognized was truly ghastly French. There seemed to be much repeating before Hogan appeared to have gotten the message with full understanding.

When he hung up the phone, Hogan turned toward Klink with a pale, strained expression on his face.

"What is it?" Klink demanded.

"I have a daughter," Hogan said.

"A daughter?" Klink echoed. Shouldn't he look more happy?

"Yeah. A daughter," Hogan repeated. "A little girl. But…" He seemed to be having trouble saying the next part. "But it was too early. Tiger is in trouble. She may not make it."

* * *

The small grass airstrip nestled in the Wisconsin woods shone with autumn sunlight, made brighter by the blazing colors of the surrounding trees. The Mustang stood on the edge of the strip, prepped and ready to go.

"Sure you'll be okay with William?" Hogan asked Klink as he stood by the wing.

Klink studied the dark-haired little boy whose mischievous eyes were so like those of his father's, Klink's greatest nemesis and, yes, his best friend. "I'll be fine. As long as it's fine with you if I lock him in the cellar to cool off when he becomes unruly," Klink said.

"Fine with me," Hogan responded, equally deadpan. "I've taught him how to dig tunnels. He'll be out in no time."

Giving as much of a smile as he could muster, Klink handed the boy to Hogan for their farewell. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather take a commercial flight from New York?" Klink asked again.

"Take too long," Hogan said. "I can pick up auxiliary tanks in Toronto. From there it's Nova Scotia, to Greenland, to Iceland, to Ireland and straight to Paris. Easy." He hugged Willy close.

"You can't land in Greenland this time of year," Klink insisted again. "The fog, and the ice… You're crazy."

"So I keep hearing." Hogan handed his son back to Klink. "Take care of him."

"I will. You be careful."

"I will," Hogan responded with a grin. He climbed onto the wing of the plane. Then, maneuvering his sore leg, eased into the cockpit. "I always am."

No, you're not, Klink thought, yet somehow it all always seemed to work out. Would the fates be so unkind as to let him save Tiger in the war yet have her snatched away now? Could life be so cruel to deny the happily-ever-afters those who had survived hell deserved?

The Mustang engine roared as Hogan aimed down the runway and gave it full-throttle. Lifting off with room to spare, Hogan made a pass over the field, tilting a wing down so he could give Klink and his son a small wave.

Klink watched as Hogan's plane headed away over the treetops. He hugged little Willy close as the boy continued to wave at his father. "Let me tell you a story," Klink told the child, "it's about a Papa Bear and a Mama Bear… Oh, and I think a tiger is involved…" Then the plane flipped a neat victory roll so William was squealing with delight as it disappeared into the distance.

The end


End file.
